


Blame The Oysters

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [17]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality, Aziraphale loves him for it, Bickering, Crowley is theatre kid levels of melodramatic, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I write lots of besotted snake, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Rating for Language, Romance, Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Self-Indulgent, also heavy-handed lighting symbolism, but now get ready for the penultimate besotted angel, love realizations, oh god they love each other so much, old married couple vibes, so much love going around, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Aziraphale tried not to sound exasperated. “Going to tell me what’s wrong?”Crowley stared at him for a long moment, expression frozen in something incredulous and disbelieving. “Absolutely not.”“Why? You can’t trust me with it?”“Oh, I trust you,” Crowley said. He continued without regard for how Aziraphale was struggling to restart his heart after the sheer joy those words brought him. “But I can’t trust you with this. ‘S a secret. Now go away so I can continue with what I was doing.”Aziraphale huffed. “Sulking?”Crowley glared at him.~~~Crowley runs out of Petronius’ restaurant when he has a sudden realization. Aziraphale, confused and in love, follows him. A lot of bickering, melodramatics, and, eventually, romance ensues. By the stars, what fools.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 29
Kudos: 152
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Blame The Oysters

**Author's Note:**

> Had the idea for this in the middle of the night and had to oblige myself. This may genuinely be one of my favorite things I’ve written, partially just because it was so incredibly fun to write. Oh, Gods Above and Below, how these two slay me.  
> Kinda OOC but whatevs.

It happened after he finished his third oyster.

Aziraphale didn’t even know what triggered it, or why, but he did know that Craw – Crowley definitely owed him oysters again sometime, to make up for the remainder of the plate that went unfinished.

Though Crowley had been his brusque, grumpy self when Aziraphale approached him at the bar, the evening had unwound the demon from whatever demons plagued him – metaphorically, that is. His mood slowly lifted, and, before Aziraphale knew it, they were chattering away like usual, finally free to talk without anything horrible or depressing going on around them. It’d been a long time.

They went to Petronius’ restaurant. Ate and drank some passable wine. They hadn’t really done this before, in this way; over four millennia of knowing one another, across hundreds of encounters, they had never simply wined and dined in the other’s company. With no excuses, just because they could, and they chose to. For once, Aziraphale gave himself no obligation but to enjoy the companionship of the demon he was in love with.

For, indeed, that was what Crowley was to him. Oh, he’d denied it at first, gone through the stages of grief, all that nonsense. But it only took the first millennia, really, for him to settle into it properly.

It was the Flood that did him in, just before the ark was loaded up with beasts of all girth and configuration. Aziraphale had been utterly struck dumb, then. By this demon, who was surly and cranky and crass, and who was kind and passionate and genuine, and who burned with the energy of the stars. He was not merely bad, not merely good. He carved his own space into a world that denied him, he walked on paths blocked off to him. And, Aziraphale realized as the wind churned torrents of rain to accost his flesh and hair, he earned not only the respect, but the love of an angel who had tried so hard to keep him at bay.

Three thousand more years went by, in a swirl of humanity and chaos. Among the rise and fall of kingdoms and countries was only one being who Aziraphale found he could rely on, and for whom his affections only swelled with each encounter.

Aziraphale found it impossible to deny anymore – not to himself, at least. To everyone else, including Crowley, he did, and quite well. He spoke harsh words and kept his emotions locked up deep, deep inside. His shame at loving a demon soon gave way to the sheer delight of the feeling, certain a love like this could not be wrong. The simple act of _being_ in love – of seeing Crowley smile, of being by his side, of loving him and loving him no matter the balance of the universe. There could surely be nothing more elating than this, than getting to exist alongside him, and to love him through the tumult of life. But he could never let it show.

This was not what Aziraphale was thinking about when he ate his third oyster. He was actually pondering the merits of learning to play the lute.

“Of course, it would be rather pointless,” Aziraphale explained between slurps of the briny, fleshy meat. “I know I can just miracle it to play properly, but imagine doing it the way humans do!”

Crowley shrugged, nursing his wine. “I remember it was – oh, one of Eve’s daughters, wasn’t it? Luluwa, if memory serves. She was the one who figured out how to whistle with those reeds. That caught on fast, but that was also easy. Just had to blow, ya know?” He demonstrated blowing with pursed lips as though to punctuate his point and Aziraphale tried not to stare – or laugh. “Then humans went and made it harder and more complicated.”

“And more beautiful,” Aziraphale counteracted. “The songs they can make and share and sing! Songs that have outlasted generations. It’s truly spectacular.”

“Like with all the stories they pass down orally.”

Aziraphale nodded, finishing his oyster. “Precisely! Of course, there are plenty of instruments I could learn. It just seems fun to do it the human way, regardless of which.” A bit tipsy, he couldn’t help himself and winked at his companion, lifting his oyster shell. “For example, these delightful little things! I could never miracle them to be so utterly scrumptious.”

As suddenly as if he had been slapped across the face, Crowley jerked in his seat, sitting up very, very straight. Aziraphale, who’d watched the demon slink and slouch through existence, suspected he’d never had such good posture in his life.

Crowley slammed his drink down on the table, ignoring the small wave of wine that splattered his hand, eyes so wide that his spectacles couldn’t cover them. His pupils had expanded, consuming his eyeballs in gold, and his mouth hung agape.

“Are…are you okay, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, leaning forward slightly, wiping his greasy fingers on his sudarium. “You look like you’ve had a fright!”

Crowley’s paleness swiftly reddened and he stood abruptly, jostling the table. “Uh, I – yes, fine, perfectly perfect. I’ve just, er, remembered I, um – got to go!” he announced suddenly, making frantic movements with his hands. He walked backwards as he spoke, nearly tripping over the trailing hem of his black toga and bumping into a fellow patron. “Yes, very important. Demonic business. Yes. Erm! See ya, Aziraphale!” He turned and fast-walked out of the restaurant before Aziraphale could respond.

Dumbfounded, he watched him retreat. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley so – flustered? Could that be it? He’d seen the demon out of control in anger, seen him nursing a hangover he forgot he could miracle away, seen him cry over children he couldn’t save. Aziraphale had witnessed Crowley’s every mood, every emotion. But he’d never seen this, and he had no idea how to define it.

Without hesitation, he abandoned his meal and raced after Crowley.

It wasn’t hard to spot him, a bright red head of hair in the crowd, even as daylight dwindled into evening. He followed as the demon darted down the crowded Roman streets, for miles, past merrymaking and nightlife, out past the congregations of humans to the very edge of the city and kept going.

Aziraphale jogged after him – and oh, he hated jogging, but he was too concerned about his friend not to follow – until Crowley stopped at the edge of a lake. Part of the lake was edged by the town itself – all humans tended to assemble around bodies of water – but this stretch was empty of humans, abandoned by all but a single demon and, unbeknownst to him, a single angel.

Aziraphale, still breathing a bit heavily from the jaunt, was just about to approach when Crowley suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs.

“What the FUCK?!” he shouted at the sky, arms spread wide, palms upturned. His silhouette was nearly like the cross Romans used for torture, black against the blazing red and purple sunset. “What the actual! Living! Fuck! Is _that_ , then?!”

Aziraphale was so shocked by this heavenward declaration – question? – that he balked in his tracks and stared, jaw dangling open.

“Are you actually for real?” Crowley yelled upward, waving his arms in that distinctive way of his, as though his hands and movements would make up for whatever his words failed to say. “The angel, really? You’ve got to be kidding me! Fucking fuckity fuuuuck!” And then, dramatic demon that he was, he flopped backward into the grass with a thump, spread-eagle, and groaned irritably into the atmosphere.

By now, Aziraphale’s surprise had passed, and he was instead barely holding back great peals of laughter. He had seen Crowley like this, too, theatrically victimizing himself and childishly petulant. It set his smitten heart aflame. Oh, Crowley was just too adorable for words sometimes.

Still, he was frustrated about something. So much so that he’d left Aziraphale in such a state and stormed out here to bellow at the sky. And that was worrying.

Without allowing himself to dwell too long, Aziraphale took initiative and moved forward, plopping to sit in the grass beside his lovely demon.

Crowley, who had apparently been studying the stars and pouting, jolted when he saw Aziraphale and bolted upright. He shifted his seat away in three, awkward, obvious movements.

“Angel? W-What’re you. Uh. Doin’ here?” He swallowed visibly and his hands flightily scrambled to smooth the rumbles of his black toga where it pooled over his legs and knobby ankles. His eyes narrowed as he suddenly drew himself up to point at Aziraphale accusingly. “Did you follow me?!”

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly. “Well, yes. I hope you don’t mind.” He picked up Crowley’s silver laurels from where they’d fallen in the grass and held them out to him.

“I do mind, thank you,” he said with a frown, taking the laurels and tossing them somewhere behind him, where they landed with a soft _thunk._ _“Why_ did you follow me?”

“You seemed upset.”

“Yes. And why would that warrant you stalking me?”

“Stalk-” Aziraphale scoffed, affronted. “I did no such thing! I was merely concerned about you!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and studied him warily. “Alright. Well. As you can see, I am perfectly right as rain.” He blinked, bringing that eyebrow back down to furrow. “Why is rain right, exactly? Why not right as snow? Or sunshine? Or hail? Or-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale broke in before his demon could get too sidetracked, “you were screaming profanities at the sky.”

“Ah.” Crowley’s lips twisted and, if Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken, he _blushed._ “You heard that.”

“Indeed.”

“Right.”

“So.”

“So?”

Aziraphale tried not to sound exasperated. “Going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, expression frozen in something incredulous and disbelieving. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? You can’t trust me with it?”

“Oh, I trust you,” Crowley said. He continued without regard for how Aziraphale was struggling to restart his heart after the sheer joy those words brought him. “But I can’t trust you with this. ‘S a secret. Now go away so I can continue with what I was doing.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Sulking?”

Crowley glared at him.

“Moping?”

Now he folded his arms.

“Brooding?”

“Gaaah!” Crowley moaned as he flopped himself back again, limbs tossed with reckless abandon like a cantankerous starfish. “Why?!” he shouted, glaring and gesturing upward.

“Why what?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely confused and also trying not to find this display extremely cute.

“Said! Can’t tell you!”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale considered his ridiculous, absurd, wonderful demon for a moment, overwhelmed with amused affection, before scooting across the grass a bit closer to lie down gently in the lawns beside him. He would worry about the grass stains later.

A pause. “What’re you doing.” Crowley didn’t even bother asking it as a question.

Aziraphale hummed. “Stargazing. You?”

Crowley offered a huff of amusement. “Sure. Stargazing.”

They allowed a silence to settle between them comfortably. It was a quiet built for thoughts, an intake of breath before the exhale, a liminal space between day and night when anything could happen. There were few stars in the sky, with the sun still blazing on the horizon, but it didn’t take long for the pinpricks of yellow and blue to scatter the midnight indigo of the skies.

Crowley gave a low sigh. The exhale. “Angel,” he said, almost wearily, with an undercurrent of fear.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think demons can love?”

Aziraphale, unprepared for this question, nonetheless answered immediately. “Yes.”

Aziraphale, out of the corner of his eye, saw Crowley’s head turn to face him, no doubt flabbergasted based on his tone when he next spoke. “Wait, really?”

Aziraphale nodded, still not looking at him. “I like to believe they can,” he admitted carefully, unsure where this was going. The silent _I like to believe_ you _can_ was more obvious than intended. If Crowley was finally going to talk about what was bothering him, Aziraphale didn’t want to scare him away with…feelings – however, well, _relevant_ they may seem by the query.

Crowley went silent again, so Aziraphale finally turned to face him after the pause lingered too long. The demon was gnawing on his lip, staring at Aziraphale’s profile intently. He seemed to decide something when he saw Aziraphale’s face. “Theoretically speaking,” Crowley said slowly, “what would you say if I said that _I_ could love?”

Aziraphale shifted his body to face him fully. The movement brought them closer together, no more than the length of a forearm between their faces, grasses tickling his cheeks as he tried desperately, hopelessly, not to hope. “I would believe you,” the angel whispered simply.

Crowley swallowed painfully. In the low light, the glare of moonshine off the lake, Aziraphale could see the highlighted outlines of his features in silver and grey. But his eyes shone gold, as they always did, undisturbed by the cast of the heavens.

The demon took a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak. Aziraphale’s heart clogged his throat with anticipation, this precipice of something he dared not to name, and then…and then…

And then Crowley visibly deflated, turning back to look at the sky. “Okay,” he replied, and whatever it was that had suffocated them in that moment evaporated. Aziraphale’s chest stung at the loss, unsure what had happened, what had gone wrong, and not brave enough to ask.

This silence was not a tense one, though there was a discomfort to it, something like wearing soggy socks. But Aziraphale couldn’t stand it, for all that it was _not_ , and sat up, just gazing at the ripples of the lake, before rising fully to stand. Crowley did not stir.

“Well,” Aziraphale murmured. It was fully dark, too far to hear the jubilation of the city, and the sweet, grassy air seemed to smother him. He didn’t dare speak too loudly. “I’ll…leave you to it, then, Crowley.”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale turned. Crowley was still sprawled in the grass, his toga twisted around him and legs crossed. He was propped up on his elbows, short, tight curls loosening to frame his eyes and cheekbones, spectacles tucked away or lost in the stems of the field. He looked so earnest, so curious. So afraid.

“Yes, Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley stared at him. “Why…am I in love with you?” he whispered.

_Oh._

The world fell away, and there was nothing but this moment, this moon, this breath of night air. Unsure how he was still standing under the sheer weight of it all, Aziraphale felt his very heart burst with so much love and joy that he couldn’t have contained the smile that overtook his expression if he’d had the wherewithal to try. His skin ached and throbbed with a delirious hum of sheer, utter happiness, and he beamed, glowing under moonlight.

“I’ve often asked myself the same thing,” Aziraphale replied _oh so_ softly, already quite sure he was going to cry.

Crowley’s eyebrows ticked up. “You’ve asked yourself why I love you?” he asked uncomprehendingly.

“Wha-“ Aziraphale’s mouth hung open for one disbelieving moment before he made an incoherent noise in the back of his throat. “No, you complete – I ask myself why _I_ love _you!”_ He couldn’t believe this. “I’m asking myself right this instant, in fact!”

“Oh!” Crowley’s features lit up in understanding and delight and he gave a stunned, nervous laugh. “That makes much more sense! I mean. It doesn’t, _none_ of this does, but…”

Aziraphale shook his head at him, blinking as tears spilled over his cheeks. “I can’t believe you. Three thousand years! Three thousand years, and you just…” He scrubbed at his face, still smiling. “You just…”

Crowley’s eyes widened with alarm. “Shit, wait, why are you crying?!” He was on his feet in an instant, hands fluttering anxiously over Aziraphale’s wrists, eyebrows screwed in concern. “And what do you mean about three thousand years? What is happening right now?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from inside his very human-feeling heart, which beat with so much love, he didn’t know how it had lain dormant so long. “I’m okay, Crowley, it’s okay,” he reassured. “I’m just so happy.”

“Right, okay. Alright,” Crowley replied, startled, still grasping his wrists. He searched Aziraphale’s face like he’d never seen it before. “Wait, you mean it? You love me?”

Aziraphale helplessly nodded. “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

Crowley gaped at him. “Whu – you – I don’t – how did…” He couldn’t seem to decide which question to ask. “ _Three thousand years?”_ he hissed.

Aziraphale nodded again and swallowed. “If not longer.”

“If not longer,” Crowley parroted. “if not – holy fuck.”

“How long have you loved me?” Aziraphale couldn’t help asking as he adjusted his hands to hold Crowley’s in his, pressing and cradling them tenderly against his chest.

Crowley stared at where his nimble fingers were now clasped carefully in Aziraphale’s plush ones, the simple touch simultaneously grounding and surreal. The black of his rucked-up sleeves contrasted against the white of Aziraphale’s as the grey of the night cast shadows and light in equal measure. “No clue,” he admitted plainly. “Only just realized.”

This pulled Aziraphale up short. “What? When?”

Crowley tilted his head away, glancing about as though looking for an escape. “Oh, you know. Recently.”

“When?”

Crowley mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“At the bloody restaurant!” he shouted, fixing Aziraphale in place with burning eyes. “You were sitting there, being all cute and dumb and eating oysters and looking soft and then you winked at me and I just – what the Heaven! What on Earth else was I supposed to do with that but fall in love with you?! S’ not playing fair, you know!”

Aziraphale gawked at him in disbelief, but his offense propelled him to reply. “It’s hardly my fault!” he yelled back. “What about you, slinking around all tempting kindness and mischievous sweetness and being my only constant! How was I supposed to not fall in love with you, with all that working against me?!”

Crowley gaped at him, eyebrows so high he was likely breaching the limits of human forehead anatomy. He was most assuredly blushing. “Damn,” he said simply.

Aziraphale felt himself calm in a whoosh of wind, leaving nothing but gooey feelings. “Quite,” he breathed.

“Hmm.” Crowley blinked at where their hands were still pressed against Aziraphale’s chest, then looked at Aziraphale’s face. “Wow. We’re. Um. Rather close, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale could focus on little else, actually. Their noses were touching, and it’d been distracting him the whole time they’d been bickering. “So we are.”

“Should I, uh, move away?”

“By no means.”

“Right, then.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, neither breathing.

“Am I supposed to kiss you?” Crowley asked suddenly, looking genuinely curious. “Not sure how this works.”

Aziraphale, who had been wanting to kiss this particular demon for nearly as long as he’d known him, tried not to just…faint, or discorporate, or drown himself in the lake or something. Such theatrics were more Crowley’s thing. “If you’d like to, I’m amenable.” He should’ve gotten an award for speaking so steadily.

Crowley glanced down at his lips, then back to his eyes. “Er. Okay. Cool. Think I…will, then.”

Aziraphale smiled, shy. “Please do.”

And when he finally did, Aziraphale forgot any thought he’d ever had about oysters.


End file.
